


the sky’d be falling

by catfox



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Relationships, End of the World, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, M/M, Past Relationship(s), inspired by a song, no beta we ain’t about that life, people process things differently, unrealistic depiction of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:41:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catfox/pseuds/catfox
Summary: Maybe he should eat his last meal, take his last shower, do his last taxes.Instead, Nemesis opens his laptop and goes on Discord.but if the world was ending, you’d come over, right?
Relationships: Oskar "Selfmade" Boderek/Tim "Nemesis" Lipovšek
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	the sky’d be falling

**Author's Note:**

> hello i’m alive! i’ve been busy with school but i heard this song the other day and said fuck it, Angst. then i wrote this in like, three hours so pls forgive me i usually don’t do sad
> 
> the song is ‘if the world was ending’ by jp saxe and julia michaels!

_would you love me for the hell of it?_

_all our fears would be irrelevant_

* * *

When they’d broadcasted the message, blasted it on every news platform and social media app possible, announced it in giant blimps floating around the world, Nemesis hadn’t even blinked.

In retrospect, he’s not sure why. He _should_ be stunned, afraid, angry, despairing. He should feel something, anything at all; maybe a crippling existential crisis, or an overwhelming wave of depression. Anything.

Instead, it’s like they’ve just announced the weather. _The world will be ending in one hour. We’re expecting overcast skies and a smattering of rain. Bring an umbrella out._

One hour. Nemesis sits in the living room of the apartment he and Crownie had rented in Korea. He’s alone; ten minutes after the news had hit, Crownie had left for a walk. He’d said he would be back soon, but Nemesis knows he won’t. They’ve been friends long enough for Nemesis to get that that might have just been the last time he’d ever see Crownie.

Not that it matters. It’s not like anything would matter in an hour. Not the money in his bank account, not the food going bad in his fridge, hell, not even his fucking rank in League of Legends. 

His phone screen lights up on the coffee table in front of him. It’s been doing that a lot; texts from his family, his friends, people back home saying their last goodbyes. Nemesis had already talked to his parents and his brothers, but he can’t bring himself to call them, not if there’s a ‘for the last time’ attached to it.

So he just sits, numb to it all. If he really wanted, he could go queue up in solo Q, but honestly, the world might disintegrate before he gets a game. And wouldn’t _that_ just be ironic.

Maybe he should go take a walk, like Crownie, and appreciate the world around him before it’s gone. Maybe he should party in the streets like the people trending on Twitter, yelling and drinking and having fun because why the fuck not, when they’re all going to die anyway. Maybe he should eat his last meal, take his last shower, do his last taxes.

Instead, Nemesis opens his laptop and goes on Discord.

He doesn’t know why it’s so easy for him to find that particular contact and press the Call button. In fact, he hasn’t done it in months, not since he left Europe, even though he’s thought about pretty much every day since, fleeting moments in his daily routine. He supposes it’s something to do with the fact that the literal world is ending, giving rise to a courage he never even knew he had.

Nemesis isn’t expecting an answer, not really. Who in their right mind would be on _Discord_ at a time like this? Besides, he’s pretty certain that his company isn’t particularly wanted in this situation, especially since—

“Neme?”

Involuntarily, Nemesis feels a shiver run up his spine. No one really uses that nickname except the person who coined it. 

Selfmade’s voice is husky, gritty with sleep, rough around the edges. Suddenly, abruptly, longing blooms in Nemesis’ chest, like fire spreading rapidly through kindling. 

“Hey,” he croaks out, hoping he doesn’t sound, well, crazy. “You’re awake.”

Immediately, he wants to slap himself. What kind of stupid question is that? Of course he’s awake, Nemesis woke him up.

Selfmade is silent. For a moment, Nemesis thinks he may have hung up.

“Are you okay?” Selfmade asks eventually, genuine concern filtering through the shards of his voice and Nemesis’ heart aches.

He’s never been one for dwelling on the past, but Selfmade isn’t just history gone by. At some point, Selfmade had been his bittersweet memory, his anchor to the present, and his promise of the future all at once. He hasn’t been that for a while, but some tiny part of Nemesis still refuses to let go of hope.

Although, it’s not like any of that matters now.

“Yeah,” he manages, digging his fingernails into the skin of his thigh, the way he used to when things were going so wrong and nothing seemed worth it and yet Selfmade is still here so it _was_ kind of worth it, in the end. “Fine. Did you hear the news?”

“Yup.” Selfmade’s tone is clipped, but not in an annoyed way, more resigned. “I just hit rank one on EU too.”

Despite himself, Nemesis laughs. The sound seems to startle a chuckle out of Selfmade too, and for one millisecond Nemesis dreams that they’re back in Madrid, giggling in Selfmade’s bed late into the night over some dumb show they watched together. It feels like nothing has changed, but really, everything is different now, isn’t it? Nemesis is here and Selfmade is there and it’s been well over a year since the last time Selfmade kissed him so—

Nemesis winces. Right.

Almost as if he can tell something’s wrong, Selfmade asks, “Neme?”

“I miss you,” Nemesis blurts, feeling the weight of the confession bearing down on his rib cage. He hasn’t even dared to _think_ those words for the past year, too scared of what other terrifying thoughts might arise unbidden from that particular rabbit hole, but hey, the world is fucking ending. “I miss you so much, Oskar, I—“ He chokes on the words, not knowing how to keep going even with so much left unsaid.

Oh, Nemesis is still the same as he always was around Selfmade. He’s never quite been able to keep a handle on his emotions when Selfmade is involved, whether it’s anger or fear or, as it was what seems like a lifetime ago, love. 

“ _Neme.”_ Selfmade draws in a deep, ragged breath. It suddenly dawns on Nemesis that he hasn’t actually seen Selfmade in months, only through pictures and vague pixels when he has the time to watch LEC matches. It’s weird, considering he used to see Selfmade every _day,_ and then every hour, every second of every minute they could steal away between scrims and solo queue and endless meetings; wrapped up in each other, in every nook and cranny they could find within the apartment, the office, the studio in Berlin. He’s spent a whole year learning how to think about Selfmade without feeling like his heart is being ripped to shreds, and now he’s here.

On sheer impulse, Nemesis presses the _end call_ button. He stares at his screen blankly for all of two seconds before Selfmade’s calling him back.

“The fuck did you do that for, idiot?” Selfmade demands the second Nemesis answers, and oh, it _hurts_ because he’s still the same as always even though everything is different now. “You didn’t even let me talk!”

Nemesis sighs into his microphone, running his fingers through his unkempt hair. He should get a haircut, Nemesis muses, before realizing that he won’t need one when the planet implodes on itself. 

“What were you going to say?” He asks calmly, like his heart isn’t racing in his chest at a million miles per minute, which was a skill he’d perfected back in Berlin after several near-misses involving the FNATIC office bathroom, Selfmade absolutely refusing to wait until they got home and a very flustered Pete. 

“I don’t want to tell you now,” Oskar huffs like a petulant child, and Nemesis instinctively rolls his eyes, even though no one is there to see him. Honestly.

“You know, this is why we broke up,” Nemesis mutters, only half meaning it.

Oskar barks out a sharp, bitingly bitter laugh. “No, we broke up because you didn’t love me enough to _try._ ” 

That _stings,_ because it’s both the truth and the biggest lie Nemesis has ever told in his life. For a brief moment, he really considers just taking the secret to his grave out of pure spite, but… why would he have called Selfmade, then?

“I love you,” Nemesis snaps, “enough that I don’t want you to be held back by a relationship you didn’t want anyway.” 

Okay, that one was kind of a low blow.

“I _wanted_ you,” Selfmade practically snarls back, spitting the words like they’re venom. “I wanted you more than anything else I ever had! I _still_ want you, but you don’t care and you’re only calling me now to… what? Piss me off? Rub it in my face that you left and never looked back while I pined after you for a year like some kind of _dog?_ ” 

“You don’t want me,” Nemesis begins, almost helplessly, his head spinning after Selfmade’s tirade. It’s been a while since they’ve argued like this, with so much passion and emotion and heat behind it; it’s almost refreshing, if Nemesis weren’t so confused. “You only loved me because you pitied me—“

Selfmade voices some very harsh choice words which even Nemesis, with his limited Polish vocabulary, gets the general gist of. “I knew you were stupid, but seriously? Did you sell your brain over there?”

Nemesis makes an affronted noise, rather offended by that. He’s dumb, yes, but Selfmade’s _dumber._ “You fooled me once, remember?”

He can practically _hear_ Selfmade throw his arms up in exasperation. “That was different. It was shitty, but it was also because I thought you were just using me—“

“For the last time, I’m not in love with Crownie!” Nemesis interjects, already knowing where this is going. They’ve had this conversation before, back when their relationship was still new and undefined and a fucking mess, all things considered. “I’ve never secretly loved him, and I never will because apparently I’m still so goddamn in love with _you._ Dumbass,” he adds, for effect.

Hey, in twenty minutes, he won’t even remember this happened. It’s probably for the best he’s getting all this out there now.

“Yeah, well, that was pretty hard to believe since you moved across the world with him.” Selfmade laughs humorlessly, his voice dry as the desert. 

“But it’s you I’m calling when the world is ending, isn’t it?”

Silence. Nemesis holds his breath. This was truly the worst idea he’s had in a while, and yet, he would’ve done it again a million times over.

“I’m sorry I gave up,” he says suddenly, the words abruptly coming to him in that instant, like a pot of gold appearing at the end of a rainbow after a storm. “I’ve never stopped wanting you. If you’re a dog, I’m a dog.”

Selfmade snorts, but he doesn’t sound mad anymore and maybe that’s all Nemesis needs for his last fifteen minutes of existence. “Then we’re perfect for each other, right? Biting and fighting all day like we have nothing better to do.”

“Well, we really didn’t have anything better to do,” Nemesis muses, his lips quirking upwards as he thinks about the sheer number of very public arguments he and Selfmade had gotten into back in Europe. Sometimes, people could hardly believe they were actually dating. 

“Oh, we had _some_ better things to do,” Selfmade points out smugly. Nemesis can practically see the smirk on his face, and it makes the ache in his chest even more unbearable, like he’s missing an entire piece of himself, like his soul is fractured. 

“Yes, and I seem to remember those things getting us into a lot of trouble,” Nemesis reminds him dryly, and is rewarded by Selfmade cackling.

“I don’t think you were complaining back then…”

Despite everything, Nemesis blushes. _Still._ It’s like he’s a teenager again. “Shut up. You’re so annoying.”

“But you love me,” Selfmade says simply, like it’s a fact, like it’s the truth, like he’ll believe until, well, the world ends. Nemesis glances at the clock. Ten minutes.

He’s suddenly gripped by the searing realization that this is going to be over soon. The birds will stop chirping, the sun will stop shining, and the world will stop moving, but he’ll still love Selfmade, even if that means everything and nothing all at once.

“I do,” Nemesis answers, quietly, earnestly, _honestly._

Selfmade sighs. It’s almost sad. “I wish we had more time,” he admits, and Nemesis knows it isn’t just a spur of the moment confession or anything like that, because he’s thought the same thing every day for four years. In Madrid, in Berlin, in Slovenia, in South Korea. It’s just funny how he’s only really starting to understand now that they’re _literally_ running out of time.

Nine minutes.

“We would’ve wasted it, too,” Nemesis points out, thinking ruefully of all the times he and Selfmade had argued and absolutely refused to speak civilly with each other for days, for no good reason other than just to fight. Then again, that’s how they’ve always been; it’s their entire dynamic and if he could do it all again, Nemesis thinks he might. “We could never have enough time.”

“I don’t think any time I have with you is a waste.” Selfmade’s tone is sincere, almost cruelly, a harsh kind of truthfulness. It feels like he’s just shot Nemesis in the chest. 

Nemesis has never been one for emotions. Hell, that was the entire concept of his branding. But now he’s feeling _all_ of them; regret, hurt, fear, affection, sheer want, everything that overwhelms his senses and makes him curl up in his chair, eyes pricking with heat. There’s so many things he still wants to do, and right now, chief among his list of priorities is Selfmade.

But he can’t, can he? He’s too late.

Eight.

“I’m happy you called,” Selfmade blurts out, abruptly, like water bursting forth from a leaky dam. “There’s no one else I would rather spend my last seconds with. So, uh, thanks.”

Nemesis takes a deep, steadying breath. He’s spiraling into a cesspool of dangerous _what ifs_ and wasn’t he just thinking about time wasted? Selfmade is here now, not in the way Nemesis really wants, but it’s something and Nemesis is grateful for it, knows he needs to make it count.

“We weren’t meant for each other,” Nemesis says, voice firm. He can tell Selfmade is genuinely surprised, just by his silence. “Like, if soulmates and all that shit about destiny was real? You aren’t mine. You’re not ‘the one’ for me or whatever.”

Selfmade lets out a dry, subdued, nearly amused laugh. “Yeah, I figured.”

Nemesis barrels on. “It doesn’t matter, though. You could be the worst possible match for me in every possible way, and maybe you are, but I’ve never wanted anyone else. So… there’s that, I guess.” He clears his throat awkwardly, wondering where he’s going with this, hoping Selfmade already knows the answer.

Seven.

“You know,” Selfmade muses, in a conversational tone like he’s just talking about the weather. “You’re the only person who keeps breaking my heart, over and over again, and the stupid thing is I just _let_ you. Like an idiot. And the worst part is I’d keep letting you do it, if you wanted.”

Nemesis’ voice comes out as a leaden whisper. “You never did know how to take care of yourself.”

Selfmade snorts derisively. “That’s what you got from that? I’m trying to tell you some sappy shit like my heart has always been yours, no matter what you do to it. Though I’m not surprised you’re still so dense.”

Well, that’s mildly offensive. Nemesis pouts. “I’m not dense.”

“Yeah, and I’m Rekkles.”

Almost on instinct, Nemesis points out, “Rekkles is more handsome.”

Selfmade sighs dramatically. “You’re such a player, Neme.”

“You love me, though,” Nemesis retorts, and oh, it’s like a giant weight’s been lifted off his shoulders from the words alone. He doesn’t know why he’s always had so much trouble with the notion that someone, especially someone like Selfmade, would _love_ him. It’s caused problems in their relationship before, but they all seem so small and dumb in the grand scheme of things now. Selfmade isn’t his happily ever after, but he still loves Nemesis and that’s all Nemesis wants.

Six.

“Turn your camera on,” Selfmade says suddenly, more of a demand than a request, the way most things have always been with him. _Headstrong_ is the word Nemesis would choose to most aptly describe Selfmade’s personality, along with considerable servings of _stubborn_ and _annoying_ and _charming._ None of those are the qualities Nemesis ever thought he’d want in a relationship, but apparently life is full of surprises.

“Why?” he wants to know, already feeling self-conscious about his mop of hair and general state of mess. It’s not like he’d been expecting visitors, or in fact, Selfmade answering his call.

“Just do it.” Selfmade’s tone is tinged with mild exasperation. “And hurry up.”

“You’re so bossy,” Nemesis mutters, but he has to admit he’s intrigued, so he turns the video call on.

Selfmade’s room is swathed in darkness, with only a tiny lamp providing just enough light for him to make out the Pole’s features through the pixels. He’s still got that ugly close-cropped haircut, that sharp nose and mischievous eyes and pretty lips, and horrible, awful longing bursts through Nemesis’ chest.

Five.

“You really need a haircut,” Selfmade notes, and Nemesis almost laughs, strangles it down at the last second.

“What’s so important about video calling, then?”

“Nothing,” Selfmade answers simply. “I just want to see your face when I tell you I love you.”

It _sucks._ It sucks that Nemesis is a twenty hour flight away from Selfmade, that they’re separated by approximately a million miles and what, like, two oceans? It sucks that Nemesis is still just an idiot madly in love with his best friend, and that he’s only figuring it out now. It sucks that they could have had so much more, but they didn’t and now they can’t.

But it sucks slightly less hearing that.

“You’re blushing,” Selfmade notes, smugly. “That’s adorable.”

Nemesis glares at him. “Shut up, Oskar,” he mutters, watching the way Selfmade’s features shift as he snickers. He’s beautiful, like a marble statue in a museum, like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, and Nemesis thinks that maybe this isn’t the worst way to end it all.

Four.

“So what do you think is gonna happen after this?” Selfmade asks casually, like they’re talking about a scene in a movie rather than the literal end of the world.

Nemesis hums, considering the question. He’s never really stopped to think about it all that much. “I guess we just explode and become stars or something.”

Selfmade looks contemplative. “I hope I end up in a spot near you.”

Without thinking, Nemesis says, “I hope we just turn into one star.”

“That would make things easier.” Selfmade nods in agreement, as if they’re actually having a valid discussion right now. “But does that only work if you’re married or something? Because I told you we should’ve done it in Shanghai.”

Nemesis groans automatically. “I was _not_ going to marry you just for wife buff,” he informs Selfmade, who chuckles.

“Yeah, well, too bad. You’re stuck in our star with me forever.”

Nemesis smiles, unable to stop himself this time. “What a pity,” he says, not meaning it at all.

Three.

“Maybe we should have video sex one last time,” Selfmade suggests, grinning cheekily as Nemesis rolls his eyes.

“You think you can finish in… three minutes?” He checks the clock, finding himself mildly startled when it sets in. They have a hundred and eighty seconds left. It’s jarring. 

“With you? Of course.”

Despite himself, Nemesis’ face and ears grow warm. Selfmade practically cackles. 

“God, you’re so cute,” he cooes, the same way he used to back in Berlin, all the times he’d turned Nemesis into a quivering wreck with just a few soft, murmured words. There’s never quite been anyone else for him, Nemesis is realizing now.

“I wouldn’t be so proud of a three minute record, if I were you,” Nemesis points out wryly.

Selfmade grins devilishly. “Should I remind you of your _own_ record—“

“You _cheated,”_ Nemesis interrupts, immediately fired up over the mention of that one time he’d thought it would be a good idea to accept a bet with Selfmade. Never again.

“But it worked,” Selfmade shoots back, and Nemesis scoffs.

“You’re the worst.”

“Aw, I love you too, Neme.”

Two.

“If you have any other burning secrets, now’s the time to spill them,” Selfmade proposes, leaning back in his gaming chair. The light in his room shifts just enough that Nemesis can glimpse the hoodie he’s wearing; it’s a simple black one, but Nemesis remembers it used to be his favourite one to steal back when he could.

“What happened to sharing a star?” Nemesis points out, vaguely wondering whether there’d be hoodies where they’re going. Probably not, but who’s to say? 

“I’m just giving you a chance to tell me before I inevitably find out anyway,” Selfmade explains, a smile toying on his lips, and all of a sudden, Nemesis really wants to kiss him. He can almost remember the feeling of Selfmade’s warm lips on his, the taste of chocolate and boba tea, the coconut scent lingering on Selfmade’s hair and skin.

Instead, he settles for raising his eyebrows at Selfmade. “I don’t have any secrets. You sure sound guilty, though.”

Selfmade fakes an offended gasp. “Me? Guilty? Unless it’s for stealing your heart—“

Nemesis groans theatrically. 

“—I admit nothing,” Selfmade finishes with a flourish, clearly pretending he hadn’t heard anything. 

“I don’t remember you being so full of ‘sappy shit’,” Nemesis muses, parroting Selfmade’s term from earlier.

Selfmade grins, wide and bright and genuine. “It’s just because it’s you.”

One.

“I love you,” Nemesis blurts out, nervously digging his fingernails into his thighs. It sounds stupid, but he wasn’t scared when the news hit or for the fifty-nine minutes afterwards; and now, as they’re hurtling towards the final hurdle, it’s all starting to catch up. “You know that, right?”

Selfmade’s voice is uncharacteristically soothing when he replies, “I know. I love you too.”

Nemesis inhales, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He focuses on Selfmade’s face, so far away and yet so seemingly close, like Nemesis could just reach out and touch him if he wanted to. “Are you sure?” he asks, unable to stop the question from slipping through his mental filter. He feels so weirdly vulnerable.

“More than anything,” Selfmade says softly, but his tone is unwavering in its certainty and Nemesis breathes out. 

They’re in the seconds now. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen when the timer ends, but Selfmade is here with him and that makes it better, makes Nemesis feel like he could face anything and get through it.

He looks back at Selfmade, who’s staring at his screen, absently messing with the strings of his hoodie. Nemesis takes his time, however much he has left, memorizing this moment in time, burning it into his memory.

Selfmade smiles, a little sadly. “Neme?”

Nemesis closes his eyes, picturing Madrid, two kids whispering and giggling under the covers late into the night, drunk off the first real freedom in their lives; Berlin, side by side in an empty office, practicing with burning eyes and aching wrists, sneaking kisses between games; and South Korea, right now, Selfmade plastered across Nemesis’ laptop screen, so far away but so achingly close all at the same time. 

He really hopes the star thing works out.

“See you on the other side, Oskar.”

* * *

_and there wouldn’t be a reason why_

_we would even have to say goodbye_

**Author's Note:**

> anyway, my next wip is pure nsfw crack. balanced as all things should be.


End file.
